My Best Friend

So, on Monday, my Dad called me with the call I had been expecting for over a month but one that I had been dreading.  My Dad called to tell me that they would be putting Mick, our 15-year old Australian shepherd to sleep. We got him while I was still in kindergarten, and we would have never dreamed that he would make it to my senior year of college.  I still remember picking him up on St. Patrick's day of 1994 from a farm just outside of Des Moines. It was puppy-love at first sight.

Mick would sleep in my bed with me, sometimes under the covers.  He would usually stay there until I fell asleep, but then the next morning, my dad would let him into my room to jump on my bed and wake me up for school.  As I got older, there wasn't room for both of us on the bed, but I still started everyday by getting jumped on and licked by a relatively large dog.

We had a lot of fun growing up together. We explored the woods behind my house. He would chase after us as we sledded down snowy hills and would steal our hats and gloves from us once we got to the bottom. When I played catch with friends, it turned into a game of keep-away from Mick, and when he eventually did get the football/baseball/whateverball, it turned into a game of catch-the-stupid-dog-so-we-can-get-the-ball-back.

I could go on and on about Mick. How he chased the deer in the park, and how the deer weren't scared of him at all. How he used to greet my family with a special bark and how his left ear was always perked in the air. How he hated to have his paws touched and how he "played guitar" when I scratched him on his chest just below the neck.

Mick was simply the best dog a boy could ever ask for. I'm gonna miss you, buddy.

So without further delay, from about a year ago, here is a self-portrait of me with the best dog ever to grace this earth.